


Giving in and Letting Go

by concavepatterns



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Biting/Marking, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Knotting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:38:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concavepatterns/pseuds/concavepatterns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way she sees it, she’s got two options: the first is to thank him for his hospitality and then be on her way. The second is decidedly less proper and goes against everything she’s been telling herself since she first laid eyes on him.<br/>Ah, screw it.<br/>She’s never really been one for propriety anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving in and Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fuckyeahdarcylewis omegaverse week on tumblr. Because one can never have too much OTP smut ;)

 

The universe was sick and cruel.

That’s the only way Darcy Lewis can think to describe her current predicament.

“What do you mean I’m an omega?”

Her throat feels tight and the words come out on such a comically high squeak, she’d almost think to laugh if she wasn’t so busy having the fucking rug ripped out from under her feet.

“The test results say-”

“Then do it again,” Darcy interrupts harshly, feeling only mildly guilty for lashing out. Logically she knows it’s not Dr. Cho’s fault; don’t shoot the messenger and all that, but at the moment, Darcy’s feeling distinctly irrational.

“Do the test again,” she orders, hysteria creeping into her voice, “you need more blood? Here, take it.” She thrusts out her arm, sleeve still rolled up to her elbow from the samples Dr. Cho had drawn earlier.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a routine check-up. She’d been feeling a bit off; strangely restless and uncomfortable in her own skin, so at Jane’s insistence, Darcy made the appointment with Dr. Cho. She’d been expecting to hear the typical order of _get some rest_ ; the comforting confirmation that she’s plagued by nothing more than stress. Hell, she’d even take some kind of weird virus-induced fever over this news.

The doctor shakes her head. “Further tests won’t be necessary.” There’s a heavy finality to her voice that makes Darcy’s stomach drop like a heavy anchor sinking lower and lower until she can feel it into the soles of her shoes. “I’m sorry Darcy, but you’re no beta.”

* * *

"How on Earth did they misidentify you?”

When Darcy breaks the news, Jane looks just as shocked as Darcy expected she would. There’s an edge of curiosity there too; the scientist in her eager to analyze, dissect, and produce answers to a question that in Darcy’s opinion is so far beyond baffling, she kind of wants to cry.

“The hell if I know,” she replies before draining the rest of her coffee in one long gulp. She could really do for something stronger but it’s still early and all she and Jane could find was a little hole in the wall hipster-style cafe. So now she’s nursing her wounds while a guy with a lumberjack-worthy beard doles out beverages behind the counter as obscure folk music drifts through hidden stereo speakers.

Atmosphere aside, the coffee is brutally strong and not at all what Darcy likes but she’ll take it anyway, hoping the dose of caffeine will stop the slight shaking of her hands.

“I was so sure,” she mutters, staring at the now-empty paper cup she’s rolling between her palms. Nervous habit. She needs something to keep her hands busy. “I mean, I’ve never been in heat. How the fuck can I be an omega?”

Jane shrugs, trying to look as casual as possible but Darcy clearly sees the excitement in her friend’s eyes. Unsolvable problems are pretty much Jane’s specialty. She’s itching to figure this out.

“What if it isn’t just hormones,” Jane muses, “what if it’s a biological thing, a certain genetic make-up in your DNA. Maybe you just haven’t met an alpha who’s compatible with you yet.”

“Well I have no plans of that _ever_ happening,” Darcy’s nose crinkles in disgust. For the past twelve years, ever since she hit puberty, she’s been living life just fine as a beta. So what if that’s suddenly all a lie? There’s no need to go changing everything just because of Dr. Cho’s dumb test results. She’s comfortable. Happy. A beta is what she’s _meant_ to be.

Her thoughts are interrupted when the annoying jingly bell above the door sounds and through some strange unseen force, Darcy feels compelled to turn her head and _fuck_ , did she mention that the universe was sick and cruel? Because it really, really was. Some cosmic entity must be having one hell of a laugh at her expense right now.

The guy who walks through the door is stunning; deliciously tall and lean with inky black hair and piercingly bright eyes that make her brain come to a screeching halt as she blatantly stares at him.

He places his order, leans on the counter as he waits, and then his eyes slide to her and Darcy’s heart stops.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

“Darce?”

Jane’s voice sounds far away, muffled by the roar of white noise in Darcy’s ears, and it isn’t until Jane repeats her name another three times that Darcy finally snaps out of it.

“Alpha,” she forces the word from her numb, uncooperative lips, “oh fuck, Jane. That dude behind you is an alpha.”

The pained look of panic on Darcy’s face is enough to make Jane twist in her seat, chancing a quick glance over her shoulder at the man leaning on the counter.

“So I was right,” Jane’s expression is positively gleeful when she turns back to Darcy, “it _is_ a biological reaction!”

“Oh my god,” Darcy moans, slouching over the table and hiding her face in her arms. “Please tell me he’s not coming over here,” her voice is muffled as she speaks into the sleeve of her sweater.

“He’s definitely coming over here,” Jane reports, looking behind her once again, “and he looks...animalistic.”

“Really, Jane? _Really_?” Darcy’s head lifts just enough to level a glare at her friend through narrowed eyes.

“In my very scientific opinion, yes,” Jane answers primly, and Darcy’s so freaked out, she can’t even tell if Jane’s joking or not. “He’s about five seconds from jumping you, so if you’re serious about still calling yourself a beta, you might want to make a run for it now.”

“I owe you. Big time,” Darcy says in a rush, hopping up from her chair so quickly that the tops of her thighs bang the table, making it wobble.

Before Jane can even respond, Darcy takes off, darting into the ladies’ room only because using the main door would put her right in Hot Alpha Guy’s path and that’s a risk she really can’t take. There’s too great of a chance of him following her outside. Surely she can find an emergency exit to sneak out of somewhere in the back. Hell, she’s not above abandoning all pride and wiggling out a window if that’s what it comes to.

In the washroom Darcy beelines for the row of sinks, palms pressing flat on the countertop as she leans her weight on her arms and forces herself to breathe. When she feels slightly more in control of herself, she finally looks up at her reflection in the mirror, taking stock of what she sees.

Pupils dilated.

Skin flushed.

Pulse hammering like a scared rabbit.

She chooses to completely ignore her current state from the waist down. The painful ache and soaked panties are symptoms of her newly-discovered omega status that she really doesn’t need to be reminded of right now.

She’s debating her plan of escape when the door creaks open behind her and before she even turns around Darcy _knows_ who it is through some freaky sixth sense that has her body reacting without her consent.

“You,” she says dumbly because she’s oddly tongue-tied in his presence and, well, what else is there for her to say?

“You,” Hot Alpha Guy returns with an amused smirk and oh dear god, Darcy has to squeeze her thighs together at the sound of his voice. One little word and her legs are threatening to give out from under her.

“Look,” she says, finding her voice, “whatever you think is about to happen, I can promise you, it’s not.”

His smirk grows wider as he takes a step forward and Darcy is annoyed to find that Jane was right about the whole animalistic thing. He’s the very definition of predatory.

“What exactly do you assume I want from you?” He cocks his head, studying her with way too much intensity, and he still looks so goddamned _amused_ , Darcy wishes she could wipe that stupid expression right off his gorgeous face.

Her head and her hormones are engaged in an epic battle as he closes the distance between their bodies, backing Darcy up against the sinks until her ass digs into the edge of the countertop.

“You know.” It takes her two tries to get the words out.

“Yes,” he acknowledges in that deeply rich, accented voice that makes her skin go warm, “though I would prefer hearing you say it.”

He’s so tall she has to bend backwards in order to clearly see his face and when she does, she almost whimpers. His eyes are so incredibly dark, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, lips pink and slightly parted as he breathes in deep, ragged breaths, and _fuck, fuck, fuck_. She hates him and she wants him.

“If you are so disinclined to answer, perhaps you would instead tell me your name?”

Oh damn. Darcy’s cheeks instantly flush with embarrassment. She was so mesmerized she forgot they were in the middle of a conversation; assuming indirect answers and subtly dancing around each other even qualified as an actual conversation.

“Darcy.” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself.

“ _Darcy_ ,” he echoes, and now his hand has somehow found its way into her hair and his fingers are softly massaging the back of her neck and _god,_ she knows it shouldn’t but it feels like heaven.

“And you?” She questions with a raised eyebrow, trying to sound as neutral as possible despite the way her body is slowly drawing towards him like he’s a magnet and she’s a goddamned paper clip.

“I am Loki,” he replies, and the smug, prideful way he says it should be a turn-off but all Darcy can think about his how well that self-assured cockiness must translate into other decidedly more private areas of his life.

“So now that we’ve established that, I should really get going.” Darcy swallows, trying to look anywhere but at him. It’s impossible though; he’s too close, taking up her entire field of vision and if she hangs around for one second longer, she’s going to end up doing something she’ll regret.

“Why the hurry?” He presses into her now, all lean muscle and intense heat and she can _feel_ how much he wants her. It’s like a punch to the gut; arousal hitting her hard and making her head swim.

“I...I have...a thing...” she stammers out lamely, not able to give a proper answer as she’s too busy trying to rein in her desire and ignore how fucking gorgeous his eyes are when he stares down at her like that.

“Mmm, is that so?” He murmurs and she can tell he knows full well that it’s a lie as he dips his head and begins nuzzling a path along her jaw.

Darcy gasps, hands automatically moving up to grip his shoulders when she feels his lips graze her skin.

“Do you want more, sweet Darcy? You need only ask,” he breathes into her ear, palms sliding down her back and pulling her just a little closer.

God yes, she wants it. She wants him to kiss her, bite her, bend her over the sink, shove her pants down and-

“Stop.”

It takes every fibre of her being to plant her hands on his chest and push him away, elbows locked as she firmly keeps him at a distance.

She’s relieved and disappointed when he steps back, allowing her arms to fall limply to her sides, and the amount of genuine surprise on his face makes Darcy feel smug and sick at the same time.

“I will not take you unwillingly,” he says in a voice softer than she’d thought him capable of, “but you mustn’t lie to yourself, Darcy.” _You’re an omega_ , his eyes seem to silently tell her, _you need this_.

There are any number of remarks she could make in return; blatant denial (“I’m not lying!”) or maybe sad acceptance (“I know”), but Darcy finds herself going with stubborn honesty as she straightens her spine and lifts her chin, making direct eye contact with him.

“Oh yeah? Just watch me.”

* * *

It’s really damn hard but she carries on.

Months pass and eventually Hot Alpha Guy fades to the back of Darcy’s mind. It’s little relief; he never truly leaves but at least he’s not plaguing her dreams or occupying her thoughts 24/7 like he had been the first few weeks after their encounter.

It’s not much but it’s enough to life her spirits, to plant a small seed of hopefulness in her chest that blooms a little more each day, and for a while Darcy even lets herself believe that through some miracle she’s been ‘cured’. It’s not completely outside the realm of possibility. She’s a fucking medical anomaly after all; an omega who somehow existed for three-quarters of her life as a beta, so it could happen, right? She could be... _fixed_. Her life could go back to normal as if nothing had ever happened.

She should have known better, really, and when they run into each other again, it’s literal.

It’s pouring rain and naturally Darcy forgets her umbrella so she’s hurrying down the sidewalk as fast as her feet will carry her as fat raindrops fall from the sky. She probably looks like a drowned rat; hair limp and soaked clothes plastered to her skin as she makes her way home.

She’s not wearing her contacts so the rain obscures her vision within seconds and the wet lenses of her glasses are epically screwing with her sense of awareness, reducing everything to a bunch of random, indistinguishable blobs of colour.

So it’s actually not all that surprising when she does bump into someone, smacking into Loki’s chest so hard it leaves her dazed as his hands close around her upper arms, helping to keep her upright when she stumbles.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she grumbles, blinking up at him while the chilly rain continues to pelt her, and she’s not entirely sure whether her shivering is due to him or the cold.

He’s dressed in a sharp two-piece suit that looks so good, Darcy’s mouth instantly goes dry, and she happily notes that he’s also without an umbrella, looking thoroughly soaked at the moment. Good. She hopes he catches the nastiest case of man-flu imaginable.

“Get in,” he says without preamble, and that’s when Darcy notices the car keys in his hand.

“Um.” The urge to do as he says is unexpectedly strong, the omega in her wanting to comply so damn badly it’s making her feel twitchy.

One of his hands stays locked around her arm as he guides her a few more steps down the sidewalk until he’s pulling open the passenger door of a sleek black car that’s probably worth more than all of Darcy’s earthly possessions combined.

He doesn’t force her, he simply stands there with both eyebrows raised; the open door invitation enough that no further words are necessary, and dammit she’s cold and tired and so fucking _weak_ , she wants this. Whatever ‘this’ even is.

Darcy slides into the passenger seat without complaint, allowing Loki to shut the door for her and then she’s alone in his car for all of five seconds while he walks around to the driver’s side, but that’s still enough time for her to thoroughly freak out. What the hell is she doing, anyway?

“Where are we going?” She asks when he starts the car and pulls away from the curb.

“Home,” Loki answers simply.

He’s not looking at her; his eyes remain firmly fixed in the road and his grip on the steering wheel looks so tight, his knuckles are turning white.

“How the hell do you know where I live?” Darcy stares at him wide-eyed, a million warning bells going off in her head. Fuck. She knew this was a bad idea. He’s totally been stalking her and for all she knows he’s probably a serial killer too, and now she’s alone with him in his car and-

“No, Darcy,” his voice cuts off her panicked thoughts, “ _my_ home.”

She feels incredibly stupid for all of three seconds, then she’s back to wary skepticism. “Okay, let me rephrase the question: why the hell are we going there?”

Loki makes a soft _hmph_ noise that could be a laugh but Darcy isn’t sure.

“You’re wet,” he says and his voice is so thick, she thinks there’s _no way_ he didn’t catch the second meaning of that statement. “It looks as though you could do with a towel and tea.”

Both of those sound amazing and Darcy figures that if he really were a serial killer, he probably would have done the deed back in the cafe bathroom, so she gives in, slumping back in the passenger seat.

His car is so comfortable it’s like the leather is actually hugging her, she thinks. Not to mention the interior is deliciously warm compared to the steadily dropping temperature outside and it smells like him; a combination of aftershave and something minty, and before she knows it, she’s drifting in and out of sleep as the soft patter of rain on the roof lulls her into a semi-conscious state.

She’s always been prone to falling asleep in cars. There’s just something so soothing about the gentle movement, and she doesn’t stir until Loki wakes her some time later.

Still drowsy, Darcy follows him into an impressive-looking building and when Loki slips an arm around her waist, drawing her in close to his side as they ride the elevator up to his condominium, she says a giant mental _fuck it_ and leans her weight against him, surprised to find just how effortless the action really is. The level of comfort and automatic ease between them should freak her out, but it doesn’t. It feels... _nice_.

Inside, Loki makes her sit on the sofa while he finds her a change of clothes and puts the kettle on, and Darcy stays there like a good little omega, trying to ignore the weird warmth in her chest brought on by his actions. He told her to _rest_. He’s making her _tea_. She’s enjoying this way too much.

She should leave right now before things go any further, but her legs are stubbornly refusing to budge and when she does manage to stand, it’s just as Loki’s walking back into the living room with a bundle of clothes in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

Darcy freezes like a deer caught in headlights; her whole body flooding with shame. He told her to sit and she didn’t listen. She disappointed him. The words “I’m sorry” are half way out of her mouth before she finally gets her jaw to clamp shut, cutting off the rest of the apology. She has nothing to be sorry for, however much the omega in her might disagree.

“Here,” Loki tosses her the clothing - sweatpants and a soft grey t-shirt - and oh god, just the _thought_ of wearing his clothes has her so hot and bothered, she’s almost trembling.

He stiffens a bit then, locking eyes with her as his expression grows dark and hungry, and Darcy internally curses herself for being such a monumental idiot. He’s an alpha; of course he can smell her, and at the moment, her hormones are going wild.

“Put them on,” he orders, nodding to the clothing in her hands. There’s an edge to his voice that has a spark of excitement shooting down Darcy’s spine.

The way she sees it, she’s got two options right now: the first is to thank him for his hospitality and then be on her way. The second is decidedly less proper and goes against everything she’s been telling herself since she first laid eyes on him, erasing all her hard-earned ignorance and denial.

Ah, screw it.

She’s never really been one for propriety anyway.

In one fluid motion, Darcy pulls the hem of her damp shirt over her head, letting it drop onto the floor. Her bra shortly follows; hands trembling enough that she fumbles twice before successfully unhooking it. She’s never been particularly shy about her body but there’s something about stripping bare in front of her alpha that has her more than a little nervous.

Her jeans are next and then she’s pulling on Loki’s shirt. The fabric smells like him and it’s incredibly cozy; comfortably oversized with the hem brushing half way down her thighs. She never, ever wants to take it off.

She has all of two seconds to pull her hair out from under the shirt’s collar, letting the mass of dark waves trail down her back, and then she hears the dull thunk of the mug in Loki’s hand hitting the rug underfoot, tea spilling across the plush cream-coloured material and almost guaranteeing it will leave a stain as he spans the distance between them in two long strides and kisses her.

It’s hard and needy and somehow _so_ much better than Darcy could have ever imagined.

She threads her hands into his hair, keeping him close and matching each kiss with equal fervor until she’s breathless and her lungs are aching for air. Even then she doesn’t pull away fully; she pauses for only a second, long enough for a single gasping breath, before their mouths find each other again.

Loki’s hands slide under the hem of the shirt she wears, palms deliciously warm on her skin as they drag up her thighs and squeeze her hips, pulling her flush against him.

Darcy makes a needy noise as he presses his pelvis into hers. If the hardness in his pants is any indication, he wants her really fucking badly, and she’d be lying if she said the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“Tell me, Darcy,” he growls, fingers flexing and biting into her ass, “tell me you want this.”

Her pride abandoned her the minute his mouth first landed on hers, so now Darcy shamelessly rambles words of encouragement, arching against him. “I do. Oh god, I do. Please, please...”

He answers her plea by wrapping his arms around her waist and actually lifting her over his shoulder, like she’s a fucking bag of potatoes or something, and then he’s stalking towards the bedroom with single-minded purpose.

When he drops her onto the bed Darcy barely has time to get her bearings before he’s on top of her, working up the bottom of the shirt she wears until it’s hitched up around her ribs.

“You smell divine,” he tells her, dragging one long finger down the centre of her damp panties. She’s embarrassingly wet but Loki looks so damned _satisfied_ by it, Darcy can’t bring herself to feel any shame.

“Now,” she chokes out; hips automatically tilting up in a vain attempt to follow his hand when he withdraws. A steady hum of arousal is building in her veins, driving her wild until she’s panting and wide-eyed as Loki finally peels off his clothing and sits on his knees before her.

She might be half-drunk with lust but she’s still aware enough to take note of how fucking gorgeous he looks when he’s naked. He’s all toned, lean muscle and dark hunger, and when her eyes drop lower, she forgets to breathe for a minute as she unabashedly stares. He’s fully erect; long and thick and she wants it so badly it _hurts_.

Ever so slowly Loki lays his palms on her kneecaps and the heat of his touch feels like flames licking at her skin, drawing a needy whine from Darcy. He carefully parts her thighs then, spreading her legs wide and fully opening her to him.

“Oh my god,” Darcy groans with annoyance, “would you just fucking do it already?”

“Now, now,” Loki tsks, “is that any way to address your alpha?”

Holy shit.

He’s going to kill her.

She’s actually going to die of sexual frustration right now.

“Please, Loki,” she begs with so much raw need that her voice breaks and Darcy thinks she sees him shiver at her words.

“Yes,” he breathes, gaze dark and steady as he meets her eyes, “yes, Darcy. I will give you all that you desire. You will never be left wanting, that I promise.”

And then he’s on her; caging her body beneath him and settling between her thighs before slowly sinking into her, and it’s so unbelievably _good_ , Darcy can only give a rough cry of pleasure as Loki buries himself as deep as he can go until she feels his hip bones sharp against her skin.

He’s murmuring in her ear as he starts moving with hard, purposeful thrusts; something along the lines of _hot, tight, perfect_ but she can’t be sure since all she can really hear is her own erratic heartbeat loud in her head.

She’s perilously close already and when Loki nuzzles below her ear, pressing hot, eager kisses to her neck, she inhales sharply, feeling her lungs squeeze tight as the fire burning low in her stomach builds until it feels like embers are dancing across her skin.

“Mark me,” she pleads with what little breath she has left. “I wanna be yours.”

He lifts his head from her neck just long enough to deliver a hot, smoldering stare and when Darcy consents with a nod, he swoops in and kisses her. It’s rough, greedy and urgent, and then his lips are on her throat, trailing down towards the curve where her neck meets her shoulder and when he reaches it, he bites her; hard and possessive.

It’s so fucking good, it’s almost more than she can bear and Darcy’s lips part in a deep moan that’s low and throaty as the delicious combination of pleasure and pain threatens to overwhelm her.

“Fuck, oh fuck yes,” she rakes her nails down Loki’s back, returning some of the pain and delighting in the way his muscles move beneath her fingers.

“Darcy,” Loki rasps her name between harsh, panting breaths as his pace grows erratic; hips bucking so deep and desperately it’s almost like Darcy can feel him in her soul, “my lovely Darcy.”

“Yours, all yours,” she returns in a breathless voice before she feels him shudder against her, managing one last forceful push of his hips and then he’s crying out as he buries himself to the hilt, swelling and pulsing inside her.

Darcy arches off the bed, blindly reaching out and clenching fistfuls of the bedspread as she tries to hold herself together because he keeps growing and filling and stretching until she’s sure she’s going to shatter from the sheer pleasure of it all.

“Oh my god, Loki. Ohmygod ohmygod...” She comes with a white hot intensity that knocks the air from her lungs, leaving her dazed, panting and trembling as little aftershocks run through her.

Loki is still locked tight inside her and he groans low in his throat as he slips an arm around her shoulders and carefully rolls them over until they’re lying on their sides. The new position allows him to relax his weight without fear of crushing her and Darcy sees the tension visibly leave his body as he practically melts into the mattress.

His palms run down her back in a warm, soothing motion and in return Darcy slides one hand around to his ass, pulling him further into her where their bodies are still joined. Closer, deeper; she’ll never get enough.

He makes a pleased, rumbling noise in response and when his eyes find hers they’re strikingly beautiful; vividly green and so full of affection, Darcy feels like her heart is about to burst.

When he’s finally able to pull away some time later, he does so with a soft kiss to her temple before he’s rolling out of bed and murmuring about using the shower.

Feeling stupidly content, Darcy remains in his bed for a little longer as she listens to the shower start up. She must doze off at some point because when she finally rises, the noise of the shower has been replaced by quiet clinks and clatters in the kitchen.

She showers slowly, letting the hot water work its magic on her sore muscles before she slips back into Loki’s shirt and wanders down the hall. When she reaches the kitchen, the sight she sees is too fucking cute for words.

A half-dressed Loki is puttering around making her a fresh pot of tea and Darcy can’t resist sneaking up behind him and winding her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his bare back.

“Hey,” she says softly.

Loki turns, returning the gesture by slipping his own arms around her. “Hello,” he drops a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” Darcy admits before reluctantly letting him go and while he finishes brewing the tea she explores his fridge and sets about making omelettes. It’s all so ridiculously domestic, she thinks that it must be a dream. If this is what being an omega is - mind-blowing orgasms followed by outrageous amounts of cuteness – maybe she can get used to it after all.

They eat while comfortably sprawled on the living room couch, touching as much and often as possible; brushing arms and inching closer until the tension in the air becomes too thick and the minute Darcy’s plate is empty, Loki is setting it aside and pressing her down onto the cushions.

He kisses her thoroughly; slow and deep until it awakens a needy ache between her thighs, and when his lips return to the bite mark on her neck, sucking on it gently, she moans and sinks her hands into his hair.

Her knees automatically fall open as Loki’s hand starts working its way between her thighs and okay yeah, Darcy thinks, maybe she was wrong. Maybe the universe wasn’t sick and cruel. Maybe, just _maybe_ , it had a plan all along.

 


End file.
